Screw City Hall
by Carol
Summary: Dean's thoughts and feelings during the last act and tag of The Song Remains the Same. Scene elaborations/missing moments for the episode.


Screw City Hall (Really, I Mean It)

By Carol M

Summary: A look inside Dean's head during Act IV and the tag of Song Remains the Same with a few missing beats thrown in for good measure

Spoilers: Up to Song Remains the Same

Disclaimer: Don't own them, only love them

Note: I started writing this before My Bloody Valentine aired and finished it after I watched the episode, so it might have tainted my original vision of this story a bit. Reviews, comments, criticisms welcome. Hope y'all enjoy :)

The bits of window glass exploded in a painful shower that dusted his skin with sharp bites as they whirred past Dean in the space of the cramped cabin. Accompanying the stinging paper cut was the deafening claxon like roar that made his ear drums pop and his brain feel like it was about to explode. God he was so sick of the pain. In every regard of the word.

The booming clang stopped and he uncovered his ears, a feeling of sickening dread building in his gut. What now? What crap was the universe throwing at him and his family? What more were they expected to endure?

A man crashed through the doorway and Dean was momentarily confused. This wasn't who he was expecting. It was an angel. That much was clear from the being's flare for dramatic entrances. But which one, damned if Dean knew. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, taking a defensive stance in front of his family.

"I'm Uriel," the angel answered coolly.

"Oh come on," he murmured, pissed that this dick was involved too.

He and Sam ushered their parents toward the back corner of the room and suddenly Anna was there too. Great. He felt the smallest twinge of betrayal. He knew Anna was a big picture kind of gal and that she was trying to do what she thought was right, but that innocent, vulnerable side of him that Anna had seen, slept with, hell, had opened up, felt like it had been slapped in the face. There was a reason he didn't expose himself often. It normally bit him in the ass.

He gritted his teeth and shared a grim look with Sam. He realized that in this very moment, they were a family again. Despite all the lies and mistakes and anger, he and his brother had found their way back to each other. They weren't going down without a fight. He could tell by the gleam in his little brother's eye that he had the same sentiment.

"Well here goes nothing," said Dean as he charged Uriel and steeled himself against the pain that was about to be inflicted against his body. He didn't have to wait long. He coiled up a punch to aim at the angel, but Uriel blocked it with his hand. The angel then grabbed Dean's arm and flung him savagely to the floor, the force knocking the air from his lungs and kicking up the deep bone aches and muscle tears from his early encounter with the garage door at the hands of Anna. He blinked furiously at the stars and black holes in his vision. He had to fight. He had to keep going. He took a breath and shakily got himself to his hands and knees. He needed a minute. He just needed one damn minute.

Apparently that was too much to ask. The angel foot that connected with his ribs a moment later felt like a block of concrete slamming into him at fifty miles per hour. It hurt him badly. There had been a lot of that lately it seemed. Hell, he just in the last week had been able to take a full deep breath without his ribs screaming at him from when that demon bitch had kicked the ever loving crap out of him. This kick though, was truly savage. It broke something inside him and not just physically. It broke through his solider wall. Because he wasn't just a soldier, damn it. He was a person with a life and a family and a heart and a soul and bones that broke. He was so sick of being forced to live a life of pain and sacrifice because someone else had convinced him it was the right thing to do.

The fire of anger in his soul geared up and it gave him the strength and energy he needed to fight past the wicked pain in his side and stand up to fight. Not for the world, but for himself. He got to his feet and traded punches with Uriel, his hand feeling like it was striking metal, his face like it was being slammed by bricks. Still, he fought against the pain. But damn it, Uriel was so strong. A moments too long recovery time from a punch gave the angel the opening he needed to seize Dean's throat with his powerful hand. The grip was like a vise and it rendered any attack against the angel useless as Uriel crushed him against the kitchen counter.

Dean heard a crash and saw his brother flung against the wood beams of the old cabin. Then he saw Anna take a broken fragment of wood and jam it into Sam's chest. "Sammy!" he cried out helplessly as twenty eight years of being a big brother flashed before his eyes. Aw hell. They couldn't take Sam away from him. Not again.

"Sam," he yelled out, his voice breaking as he watched his little brother fall dead to the floor. No no no no no no no. This wasn't happening. He'd lost enough. He couldn't. He wouldn't. This just…no. If this was for real…for good…he'd just… Oh god. He groaned as Uriel's grip tightened on his throat, almost forgetting that he himself was engaged in a life or death battle. God, death would be so much easier. His vision was starting to go. His hearing too.

Then something was flaming and screaming. He could see again. He could hear. He could breathe. He gulped in air, realizing that Uriel's grip on his throat was no longer there. Actually, Uriel was no longer there. In fact, he had stepped out of the kitchen entirely, engaged with something in the other room.

Dean took a moment to catch his bearings. Oh crap he hurt. He sagged against the countertop, barely able to stand, his throat tight and throbbing and his side an explosion of nausea inducing achy pain.

It took him a few more seconds to realize that Anna had been tenderized and that someone who was most certainly not his dad had taken his dad's meat suit out for a joyride. And that Uriel seemed to be frightened of him.

"Michael," said Uriel as he stepped towards the angel riding his dad.

Oh son of a bitch. If they thought he was going to say yes now, they had another thing coming. Right now, he'd rather kill himself then give this smug angelic bastard what he wanted.

"I didn't know," continued Uriel.

"Goodbye Uriel," said Michael. He snapped his finger and Uriel was gone. Then the archangel moved towards Mary, and Dean couldn't breathe. He listened as his mother asked about John and then asked just who the hell he was. She didn't get very far in her line of questioning as Michael reached his fingers out to her forehead and laid the angel double whammy on her. His mother slumped unconscious to the ground. Oh hell no.

With the effort of what felt like ten men, Dean pulled himself off the kitchen counter, the throbbing pain in his side threatening to down him. He wrapped his arm in protective support around his damaged ribs as he stepped forward to meet his angelic soul mate.

Michael regarded him curiously. "Well I'd say this conversation is long overdue…wouldn't you?"

Dean's eyes drifted down to his dead brother…aw god…dead. His gut clenched. "Fix him," he said raggedly to Michael, not caring how desperate or weak he sounded at the moment.

"First, we talk," said Michael, effectively shutting Dean down with the point of a finger. "Then I fix your darling little Sammy."

Dean snuck a glance down at Sam and it was all he could do not to throttle this son of a bitch. He gazed back up at Michael, confused as he checked out his dad's meat suit. "How'd you get in my dad anyway?"

"I told him I could save his wife and he said yes."

"I guess they oversold me on being your one and only vessel, huh," breathed Dean, pissed. He was so sick of being fodder for angel manipulation.

"You're my true vessel, but not my only one."

"What does that mean?" spit Dean.

"It's a bloodline."

"A bloodline?" responded Dean. Huh?

"Stretching back to Cain and Abel. It's in your blood, your father's blood, your family's blood."

The idea of angel blood pumping through him made Dean…sick…angry…responsible. He always thought Sam was the special one, the freak with the weirdo powers. But now, Dean felt his own level of freakdom. He could imagine the heavenly touched blood pumping through his veins and it left him feeling anything but blessed. "Awesome," he croaked dryly. "Six degrees of heaven Bacon. So what do you want with me?" he asked defensively.

"You really don't know the answer to that?" asked Michael incredulously.

"Well you know I ain't gonna say yes, so why are you here?" responded Dean. Damn it. "What do you want with me?" he asked urgently…fearfully.

"I just want you to understand what you and I have to do."

"Oh I get it. You've got a beef with your brother. Well get some therapy, pal. Don't take it out on my planet," said Dean, trying to shake loose from the intense unnerving gaze of Michael.

"You're wrong," whispered Michael.

Dean swallowed hard. Those were the same words he had uttered to Lucifer when the fallen angel had been in his brother and insisted that he and Sam would always wind up battling one another.

"You know, Lucifer defied our father and he betrayed me, but I don't want this anymore than you would want to kill Sam," said Michael. He stepped away from him and glanced down at Sam. "You know my brother, I practically raised him. I took care of him in a way that most people could never understand and I still love him. But, I am going to kill him because it is right and because I have to."

It all sounded so familiar to Dean. He remembered getting the same command from his own father. Every day since then, a piece of his soul chipped away at the mere thought of having to kill the thing he loved the most in the world. "Why, because God said so," he responded flippantly.

"Yes," said Michael. "From the beginning he knew this was how it was going to end."

"And you're just going to do whatever God says?"

"Yes, because I am a good son."

In a way, Dean wished he still had that blind faith in his father. It was so much easier. Not having to think for yourself. To just do what he said and never question that it was right. To just now that it was. Like he knew grass was green. He'd always been able to do that. Always. His father was his god. Right up until he gave him the one order that crossed a line that Dean didn't have in him to cross. He could take care of Sam. He could protect him. Hell, he could die for him. But he couldn't kill him. He couldn't. It would kill them both. "Yeah, well…trust me, pal…take it from somebody that knows…that is a dead end street."

"And you think you know better than my father…the one unimportant little man. What makes you think you get to choose?"

Ah damn you. Because it's my life. Because I didn't ask for this…for any of this. Because we…my family…and I…we did the best we could. "Because I gotta believe that I get to choose what I do with my unimportant little life," said Dean. I have to believe that. I can choose. I can change things. I can make things right.

"You're wrong."

Screw you with those words again you puppetted son of a bitch

Michael continued. "You know how I know?" The angel turned away him.

Yes, yes, please, enlighten me. You have all the…ow…answers. His ribs were killing him. His head was spinning with pain and shock. He wanted to lie down and go to sleep. Maybe never wake up. Just dream.

"Of a million random acts of chance that allowed John and Mary to be born…to meet…to have the two of you…the million random choices that you make and how each one of them brings you closer to your destiny."

No, no, no, no. This wasn't his destiny. It wasn't. He wouldn't let it. No. Just…no.

"Do you know why that is? Because it's not random. It's a plan that's playing itself out perfectly."

Dean's gut turned cold. No.

"Freewill is an illusion Dean. That's why you're going to say yes."

Dean swallowed a lump of tearful inevitability in his throat. No, he'd fight. He'd keep fighting. He could do it. He could withstand. Except somewhere deep down, he knew he couldn't. Not forever. He had lost far too much. His life, his family, pretty much everyone he had ever cared about. Except Sammy. He'd almost lost him, but he'd gotten him back. He still had him. He still had him to fight for. For now.

"On buck up. It could be worse. You know unlike my brothers, I won't leave you a drooling mess when I'm done wearing you."

Awesome. "Well, what about my dad?"

"Better than new. In fact, I'm going to do your mom and your dad a favor."

Dean's heart skipped a beat in dread. "What?"

"Scrub their minds. They won't remember me or you."

No, no why can't they live? Why do they have to die? "You can't do that."

"I'm giving your mother what she wants. She can go back to her husband. To her family."

"She's gonna walk right into that nursery," pleaded Dean.

"Obviously."

Can't you just stop it? Please. Why do I have to lose her again?

"But you always knew that was going to happen, one way, or another," continued Michael. "You can't fight city hall."

Dean watched wordlessly as Michael zapped Sam back to the future. He felt defeated. What was the point of having protected and loved Sam all these years if his ultimate destiny was to kill him? No, no, no. Why couldn't they just stop it? Why? Why wouldn't someone intervene and stop all of this so he wouldn't have to say yes. So he wouldn't have to kill his brother.

"He's home," said Michael, standing up to face him again. "Safe and sound."

For now.

"Your turn," said Michael. The angel reached out and straightened Dean's jacket. He wanted to tell Michael to get his damns hands off him, but he felt like he was swimming through a thick sea of defeat. He couldn't muster the energy to protest. Oh god. Is this how they would get him? Is this how they would get him to say yes? Wearing him down…

"I'll see you soon, Dean," said Michael.

Dean mustered up a glare. Screw you, dick.

Michael laid his fingers against his forehead and Dean felt the slightly drunken head spins now familiar to him that came from traveling through time.

He landed back at the motel, where he found Sam sitting on one of the beds, shaking his head as if to clear it out. "Sammy?" he said, charging his brother. He pulled him into a fierce hug. His hands went up Sam's shirt, searching for his wound. "Are you alright? Did he heal you?"

"Whoa, whoa, dude, I'm fine. Not like I haven't died before."

"Not funny," said Dean, backing out of the hug.

Sam looked Dean up and down. "What about you…you alright? And what do you mean he healed me? Who's he?"

"Michael. He took dad's meat suit out for a test drive," said Dean softly, sitting on the bed. His ribs creaked painfully.

"Michael?" said Sam, moving to sit down next to Dean. "What did he say?"

Dean lacked the mental energy to sugar coat it. He'd been hit with too much and he was in too much pain. He looked Sam square in the eye. "That none of it can be changed. That it's our destiny. That I'm going to kill you."

Sam looked like he'd been punch in the stomach.

"Yeah," said Dean.

"Mom, dad?" questioned Sam.

"Memories wiped. She dies in the nursery."

"So we didn't stop it."

"Nope."

Sam blew out a harsh breath. "Man, I don't know about you, but I could use a drink."

In any other instance, Dean would've smiled. But he didn't like the look of inevitability on Sam's face. He and Sam had to stay strong and stick together. If they didn't…well…destiny. He had to figure out a way to wipe that expression off of his brother's face.

Twenty minutes, Dean had the solution in his hand. He pulled some freshly purchased booze from its brown paper bag, eyeing the salvation of brown nothingness in the bottle. He needed to forget for awhile, needed to clear his head. Then he'd have the answer. Then he'd be able to fight. He would.

"Castiel," he heard his brother say. He turned around and saw Castiel about to drop to the ground. He dashed out to help Sam catch him.

"Gotcha," said Sam.

"You son of a bitch, you made it," marveled Dean.

"I did, though I'm very surprised," said Castiel before passing out.

"Whoa, whoa, you're okay," said Sam.

Dean and Sam dragged Castiel to the bed and set him down. The movement jarred Dean's ribs, but the fact that Castiel was still alive and still with them gave him a boost of momentum to be his friend's strength.

When they were done tucking the angel in, Dean looked anxiously at Sam. "Well, I could use that drink now." He doled out a healthy portion of whiskey to himself and to Sam. "Well this is it." Last stand.

"This is what?" said Sam, looking defeated.

The answer. "Team free will. One ex-demon blood junkie, a dropout with six bucks to his name and mister comatose over there." They were a motley crew, but they would have to do. They were his family. "It's awesome."

"It's not funny."

Stop it, Sam, stop. You gotta believe we can change things. "Believe me, I'm not laughing."

"They all say we'll say yes."

Shut up Sammy, just shut up. We can do this. Hell, we have to do this. "I know, it's getting annoying," he said coolly and detached. He couldn't show Sam that he was just as freaked out. It would freak Sam out even more and drive them both closer to the road of inevitability.

"What if they're right?"

Damn it, Sam, they're not. They're not! "They're not."

"I mean why would we, either of us but…I've been weak before…"

No, no I'm not listening to this. "Sam…"

"I mean Michael got dad to say yes."

"That was different. Anna was about to kill mom."

"And if you could save mom? What would you say?" asked Sam.

The question lingered in the air and Dean didn't want to think about it. Because the answer was that then nothing would matter. The heavens would just be able to manipulate them to get what they wanted. Like they had from the beginning.

Dean swallowed the rest of his whiskey and poured himself some more. They'd fight. They'd keep fighting. That was all he knew. All he'd known his entire life. They'd find a way. Team free will would prevail. It had to.

**

But deep down, in places Dean denied existed inside of him, he knew it wouldn't. Eventually, the day would come when they wouldn't be able to fight anymore and one and then the other would break down and say yes. And then Dean would kill Sam and save the world from destruction.

In the process, the last piece of himself, the one thing that hadn't been taken from him yet would be destroyed. And then he'd be destroyed. Michael might not leave him a drooling mess like the other angels, but he'd still be left as a shell of a man in a hero's leotard. Destiny sure was awesome.

That's All Folks!


End file.
